


i'll meet you there

by irreputablyyours



Series: younger than yesterday [2]
Category: Music RPF, Oasis (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, M/M, Reunions, Slow Burn, Tags May Change, ish
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-03
Updated: 2021-02-23
Packaged: 2021-03-15 04:28:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,873
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29183286
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/irreputablyyours/pseuds/irreputablyyours
Summary: No one was supposed to find out.
Relationships: Liam Gallagher/Debbie Gwyther, Liam Gallagher/Noel Gallagher, Noel Gallagher/Sara MacDonald
Series: younger than yesterday [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2139474
Comments: 14
Kudos: 27





	1. white noise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I'm not ashamed of you." 
> 
> "You fucking should be."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So a while back I wrote [a soulmate](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28423257) AU fic for Jeevey (you don't have to read that fic for this one to make sense, but it might help a bit if you do). Snickfic commented about reunions, and that idea kind of stuck, so...voilà. I hope you guys like pining, flashbacks, and lore, because I am planning to have a whole lot of those. 
> 
> Big thanks to OnTheWrongSideOfTheBed, who has listened to me ramble incessantly about this thing, suggested stuff and generally just been all-around awesome. (:

_soul mate (noun)_

_sōl māt_

1 : a biological anomaly in which two people are connected by marks representing the other’s soul

2 : a person who is perfectly suited to another in temperament

3 : a person who strongly resembles another in attitudes or beliefs

\- Merriam-Webster [Dictionary](https://www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary/soul%20mate)

* * *

_1996_

The whole world is at Noel’s feet. Maybe he’s truly finally lost it, but it really does feel like every single person on the planet is out there, shouting his name and screaming themselves raw to a million different lyrics, even though the band’s yet to play a single note.

He glances over at Liam, one of those little checks they always do. His brother’s dressed in that fucking hoodie, looking windswept and gorgeous. A can of soda’s balanced in his hand. He’s smiling into his drink like he knows a secret. He does, Noel thinks: it’s right there on his wrist, a picture of a red guitar. His soulmark.

It’s shining, now. Noel’s not surprised. Shit like this happens when they’re on stage together – he’d read it once, that your soulmark glows when your soulmate’s happy because of _you._ If destiny or the universe is to be trusted, this is what they’re meant to do.

It sure as fuck feels like it. He doesn’t know what he’s high on, but it can’t just be cocaine. The crowd’s shouting O-AS-SIS like a mantra, like a prayer, and his heart’s pounding in his chest, anticipation and adrenaline and a fucking _high_ all in one.

Glancing at his brother, Noel grabs his mic and whoops, “Hello Loch Lomond!”

The crowd goes fucking _wild_. He knows he’s supposed to be looking at them, but he can’t, he’s still looking at Liam. His brother catches his gaze and holds it. He blinks at Noel, his lip wobbling a tad bit.

He’d been weirdly shaky the night before, pulling at Noel’s sleeve and asking him if he thought they were gonna do alright tomorrow, biting his lip like he was nervous about it. Noel has no clue why – the kid never got nervous about anything. When Noel asked him, he’d just shrugged. “Don’t want you t’ leave me,” he’d mumbled into Noel’s shirt, more than a bit drunk, like that explained it all. Grabbing Noel by the wrist, he’d brushed his fingers over Noel’s mark.

The kid’s still looking at him, wide-eyed and near pleading, like he’s waiting for something. Noel doesn’t know what he has to do to convince his brother that he’s not leaving him – he’s got Liam's mark on his wrist, for God’s sake, he can hear his thoughts and share his fucking dreams. This – _them –_ it’s inescapable.

The crowd’s still going wild, and Noel tears his gaze away from Liam, glancing at them. An idea hits him, like a shock of electricity through a lightbulb.

He strides confidently across the stage towards Liam, like he knows exactly what he’s doing, like his hands aren’t trembling just the slightest bit. He should’ve done more coke, and he should’ve done it earlier.

Standing behind Liam, he looks onto the crowd, and raises his hands into the air like he’s God. _Thou shalt have no other gods before me,_ they used to tell them at church. Soulmates were a test of piety. Catholics meant to push them aside, not supposed to love anyone more than you loved God.

Noel looks down at Liam and he thinks, _one more sin._

Catching his brother’s gaze, he leans down and kisses him.

It’s supposed to be just a little thing, a comfort: Noel’s way of saying, _I’m here, don’t worry._ But Liam pulls him down and slides his tongue along the seam of Noel’s lips and Noel doesn’t know how to stop it, can’t make himself care. There’s thousands of people shouting his name and he’s sure his soulmark is glowing like the fucking sun underneath his watch and maybe he _is_ God, because this has got to be Heaven.

He slides a hand over Liam’s neck, lets his touch linger for just a second before pulling back. Liam looks at him, smiles, and takes a sip of his drink. Noel can't help but let his gaze linger on him, the way he stares out over the crowd vacantly, the way he props his knee up and wraps an arm around it, the beat-up claddagh ring on his finger. You would think he'd wear the same ring as his wife, not Noel, but no.

He puts the drink aside, sleeve sliding down part his wrist, and Noel realises that his brother's soulmark's been visible this entire time. 

His heart drops. Liam's mark is _glowing:_ if there’s anyone in this concert who’s not higher than a kite or drunk enough to be seeing double, it won’t take them much work to put two and two together.

Fuck fuck fuck fuck _fuck_. They’d been through this before: Noel was supposed to wear a watch, and Liam used shoddy makeup.

What had he been _thinking?_

He swallows hard, forcing his gaze form Liam towards the crowd. “We hate each other, really!” He says into the mic, a bit louder than necessary.

Pressing his fingers to the inside of his wrist, he realises he’s forgotten his watch.

He tugs the cuff of his jacket tight, and balls his hands into fists. He’s got a concert to play. He spends all of it trying to ignore the way Liam’s eyes linger on him, the way his gaze slides over to Noel when he’s singing, _I don’t believe that anybody feels the way I do about you now,_ like it’s all perfect, like it’s meant to be, like it's not a crime or a sin or anything to be ashamed of. 

They’re going to get caught, if they keep this up.

/

“Fuck’s sake, Noel, no one cares.” Liam wraps his fingers around Noel’s wrist, tugging at Noel’s cheap leather watch. It’s cutting into his skin, agitating the bright star mark engraved on his skin. 

Liam’s leant against him, peppering kisses on his cheek, his jaw, his collarbone, his other hand possessive around Noel's waist. “C’mon,” he's whispering, biting at Noel’s ear. “They’re not going to notice.” He slides a finger underneath Noel’s watch, touching his wrist. God, it’s been five fucking years and it still gets him, makes Noel's lips part, makes his knees feel weak. “Liam,” he breathes, trying to get ahold of himself. They’re in fucking New York City, minutes to going on stage at the awards show. Noel should be running over the riffs on his guitar, or at least doing a line or two. Not this.

“Don’t do it,” He whispers with as much distaste as he can muster.

“Don’t do what?” Liam says, rubbing circles on Noel’s wrist.

“Don’t touch my mark.” Liam blinks at him. There's a brief flash of hurt in his eyes, before his lips curl up into a sneer, his expression going hard. 

“Oh yeah, would you like me to get the surgery, as well then? Cut you straight out of my head? Maybe I could see if they could change my DNA, too, so we’re not related _or_ soulmates. That’d make you dead happy, wouldn’t it?”

“Gee, maybe say it a bit louder, why don’t you,” Noel says, glancing around. No one's there, but still-

“HELLO, I’M LIAM GALLAGHER AND OUR KID HERE IS MY SOU-” Noel slams his hand over Liam’s mouth so hard it draws blood. “Fuck’s sake,” Liam mumbles, tearing Noel’s hand off of him, “D’ya have to do that?”

“Yes,” Noel hisses. It doesn’t matter how much academics like to natter on and theorise about fucking ‘platonic soulmates’ – it’s a goddamned myth and everyone knows it. You have the mark, you belong to that person, in every way.

“You know what will fucking happen if we get caught?” He says, looking Liam right in the eye. His brother folds his arms over his chest, raising an eyebrow.

“Fines up to here,” Noel says, raising a hand, open-palmed, and pointing straight to his temple. “Jail time, maybe. The media scandal will drive us off the charts. We won’t be fucking rock stars no more, that’s for sure. Nevermind what everyone’ll think. Can you imagine explaining this to Patsy? Or _mam?_ ”

Liam blinks. Noel feels it, that he hasn’t got through to him. Never quite could. It’s amazing - they can communicate in ways that normal people can’t even dream of, and yet Noel could never find a way to get this through Liam’s fucking leaden skull.

“We could always try the soulmate clause.” He says, petulantly. Noel tries not to sigh. Sometimes it’s like Liam’s got a vendetta against reality – he doesn’t put two and two together the same way everyone else does, keeps trying to change the numbers so he ends up with five, or three, or fifty-fucking six.

“That won’t save our careers. Or our reputation.”

“People’re more forgiving when they think you didn’t have a choice.” Liam mumbles, leaning into Noel. There’s probably blood on his teeth and he’s probably ruining Noel’s shirt as they speak. Noel doesn’t push him away.

“You always have a choice,” Noel says, staring past Liam, at the wall behind his brother’s head. It’s got a clock affixed to it. _Tick. Tock. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. Tock. Tick. Tock._

Liam looks at him. He bites his lip.

“ _Love you”,_ Noel hears, whispered in his mind, in a voice that’s not his own.

They don’t like to use it – their thing, their telepathy, their whatever- that much. It’s _weird,_ having someone in your head like that.

The whole thing’s a bit like living in adjacent hotel rooms – you can lock your door all you like, but you’ll still hear it if someone’s smashing things next door. Sometimes you get comfortable, too, is the problem. Sometimes you forget to lock your door.

Sometimes you even open it, hoping they’ll look at you and like what they see.

“You know I don’t like it when you do that,” Noel says, softly.

 _"Fuck you,_ ” Liam says in his head, rolling his eyes. But maybe he’s a bit put off by it too, because he stops.

The clock chimes. Two minutes to stage. Alan or Marcus or someone is probably looking for them now. “We should go,” Noel says, heading towards the door.

Liam grabs his wrist before he’s out of reach, tugging on Noel’s hand so they’re facing each other. “Noel,” He says, interlacing their fingers, rubbing his thumb along the fragile bones in Noel's wrist. His eyes are wide, and he's gnawed his lip raw. 

“Take your watch off.”

“No.”

“C’mon.”

“No. We can’t – fuck, you should be wearing something too, actually.” Liam makes a face like he’s sucking a lemon.

“’M not gonna hide it. I’m not ashamed of you.” Liam looks up, eyes wide. He’s so fucking _honest._ Noel can’t stand him.

“You fucking should be.” Noel growls, storming out before he can catch Liam’s expression. He doesn’t want to see it.

He’s not surprised when Liam starts swearing at him on stage. He isn’t surprised when they cancel their remaining shows. He’s got Liam’s voice in his head when he catches a different plane from the rest of the van, the words _why won’t you just fucking admit it_ ringing over and over like a migraine.

Noel puts his head in his hands, tries to fall asleep.

He knows, eventually, they’ll get over this. Liam will quietly forgive him, and they’ll find a way back into each other’s good books and beds. They’ll go back to normal.

But Noel’s never taking off his watch again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oasis performed to a crowd of 80, 000 at Loch Lomond on August 18th, 1996. [Here's](https://faroutmagazine.co.uk/oasis-liam-noel-gallagher-loch-lomond-1996-rare-footage/) an article about it with an embedded audio recording, [here's](https://www.dumbartonreporter.co.uk/news/19048876.watch-oasis-loch-lomond-look-back-video-25-years-ago/) an article featuring some interview footage (where I think Noel and Liam are both wearing claddagh rings, but I may be wrong), and[ here's](https://irreputablyyours.tumblr.com/post/642074815739641856/twinkluffy-gallaghers-kiss-aww) some photos of that kiss. The band [played](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/\(What%27s_the_Story\)_Morning_Glory%3F_Tour%22) in New York for the MTV Video Music Awards 1996, although the American leg of the tour had gotten off to a rocky start and ended with them cancelling the last few gigs and Noel [taking a separate flight](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Oasis_\(band\)#1995%E2%80%931996:_\(What's_the_Story\)_Morning_Glory?,_international_success,_and_peak_popularity) from the rest of the band. 
> 
> Feedback is always welcome - I'm kind of worried about incorporating the lore in this thing, so do tell me if there's anything that doesn't make sense or if it feels like I'm info-dumping. Talk to me on tumblr if you so please, love as always. (:


	2. drag me down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If Noel isn’t very, very careful, this is going to ruin his life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ah i'm sorry if this chapter's bad i tried goddamnit it's been so long since i actually wrote a plot i feel rusty argh.

**Soulmate**

_From[Wikipedia](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Soulmate), the free encyclopedia_

A **soulmate** is a person with whom one shares a romantic [affinity](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Affinity_\(sociology\)), indicated by marks on one’s wrist that represents each other’s [soul](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Soul).

The capacities of soulmate pairs vary depending on the emotional strength of the bond. The most common indication is the ability to sense each other’s [emotions](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Emotion), especially [pain](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Pain) and [arousal](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sexual_arousal). Rarer effects include [dream](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dream) sharing, and well as [reading each other’s thoughts](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Telepathy). Various claims have been made of soulmates [controlling each other’s bodies](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/////), but these claims are unsubstantiated and academically treated as myths propagated by [anti-soulmate groups](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki////). [[1](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki////)] 

* * *

_2019_

_There’s a shadow sitting near him, across a gold-rimmed table. The light shifts, landing on a wine glass, and he thinks it might be Sara, with delicate wrists and strands of auburn hair just touching the table. He reaches over to touch her, but she’s out of reach. When he closes his hand over hers, he finds himself holding nothing but a golden ring._

_Alone, he looks up. The café doesn’t have a ceiling. Above him, glittering stars fill the empty sky, painting the room silver._

_He spills a glass of wine he hadn’t noticed he’d been holding. The pieces cut into his skin in slow-motion. Blood spills down his fingers in rivulets. He doesn’t feel a thing._

_“’S beautiful, ain’t it?” He turns from his bloodied hands. Liam’s sitting there, eyes to the stars. His arm’s slung over the back of his chair, knee propped up against the table, as though he belongs. His jacket’s open and his shirt is riding up. Noel stares at him._

_“Yeah,” Noel breathes out._

_“D’ya cut yourself?” Liam says, glancing at the other star, the one on Noel’s wrist, the one that’s been sliced by the glass._

_Noel looks back down at his hands. “Suppose so,” He says, his voice feeling shaky and not his own. Liam reaches across the space between them and takes Noel’s hand in his, inspecting it._

_“Probably need a plaster,” he says. If Noel had any doubt this was Liam, that would’ve sorted it right out._

_“Fucking genius, you.” Liam looks up at him and grins, tangling their fingers together. Noel tries not to wince. He wants to tell his brother that it fucking hurts, like this, when Liam takes his palm and licks off the blood, smudges his soulmark with red. But he can’t. His voice won’t work; his heart’s stuck in his throat._

_“I got good ideas, y’know,” Liam says._

_“No you don’t.” Liam doesn’t seem to hear him, looking far-off, eyes vacant._

_“Plenty of good ideas, me.”_

_There’s music and noise and confusion and Noel’s reliving it, that moment where he reached up to the skies as though he could touch the heavens and then bent down to kiss Liam on stage._

_It’s not real life, though. In real life no one had shouted “Ey! Look at ‘is mark!” and Noel’s life hadn’t flashed before him like a spinning kaleidoscope._

_He sees – newspaper headlines, interviews, tests. He sees himself standing in a doctor’s office, oscillating. He sees himself losing his mind. He sees himself at the altar, but he’s alone, faced only with a shadow._

_When he blinks back to the present Liam’s still there, balancing the ring Sara left in her wake. He flips and catches it as though it’s a coin. “When you gonna admit it,” he’s saying, meeting Noel’s gaze dead on._

_“’S getting’ a bit old, Noely.”_

_Noel’s hands are dripping with blood. He can’t speak. Liam’s gone blurry, now. Suddenly, his brother isn’t forty-six anymore – he’s eighteen, that same age he’d been when they’d..._

_“You love me, right? I know you loved me back then.” Noel tries to respond, but his vocal cords are out of operation. He can’t even move, let alone speak. There’s blood on the floor. His vision is going white._

_“I think you knew it all along,” he says, and Noel thinks at Liam_ , I fucking knew what? _But Liam’s gone, taken the ring with him._

_Sara’s back, a hand laid over his forearm. “Come on,” she’s saying, “We’re late.” She takes his hand, not seeming to notice that it’s shredded, drenched in red and marked with someone else’s soul. “You’re too late-”_

Noel wakes up with a jolt, feeling like he’s seen a ghost. He’s shaking. The sheets are sweaty. His left wrist hurts like hell. He keeps scratching it, as though he’s trying to peel his soulmark right off.

God, does he ever fucking hate dreams. He never gets the pleasant type.

He blinks his eyes open, registering and promptly ignoring the ingrained desire to throw a thought Liam’s way, ask him if he’d seen that too, if he’d been _there_. It was impossible - their bond wasn’t strong enough for dream sharing anymore.

He almost drops his phone when he realises he’s missed his alarm six times. And he’s still tired, fuck, what had he been _doing_ last night?

“Goddamnit,” he swears as he gets out of bed, banging his knee on the bedframe. He’s got an interview today on some night show – some fucking Norweigian thing, he's got a flight to catch, he thinks, swearing under his breath as he fumbles around looking for something to wear, reaching into his closest and blindly picking out a flannel that reminds him far too much of the ‘90s.

Checking his phone for new texts, he tries to remember why he’d been up so late last night.

He blinks. Liam’s name is at the top of his ‘most recent’ contacts.

 **LG:** _Thinkin ab getting the surgery you know x_ [2:56 03/07/2019]

Noel stares.

Well, that explains it.

Soulmates are rare. One-in-a-fucking million rare, or so it felt like. But having a bond tended to make you rich, so of course there was a surgery to get rid of it. Fucking expensive – almost three million quid, and that was just for the marks. Him and Liam, what with their capacity for sharing dreams and thoughts? Would probably cost half his net worth, that.

That hadn’t stopped Noel from thinking about it, though. He still has his appointment slip from 2017, back when he’d thought it might be worth it, that Liam finally hated him enough.

*

_2011_

_“Liam, fucking hell, just let me cut it. Please.”_ It’s six the morning and Noel’s been drinking for three hours straight. His new album’s coming out tomorrow, the first one without Liam singing his songs and laughing at his jokes and insulting him with mirth in his eyes. The one full of songs about Sara.

He can’t fucking do this anymore. Can’t keep thinking about Liam like this, keep missing him. It’s like having a phantom limb – two years and he’ll still turn around sometimes, like he’s waiting for someone to laugh at his joke, to _get_ him without needing a translation.

 _“Liam.”_ There’s a pause. Noel _knows_ Liam’s heard him now, that he’s thinking about saying something.

 _“Fuck no,”_ comes the response, and the feeling of having a door slammed in his face.

*

He’d asked three times since, and the answer was always the same, no matter how much Liam dragged Noel on Twitter or insulted his music. Noel can’t cut the bond unless Liam will let him, and Liam will never do that. He’s stuck.

Noel should’ve known. Once Liam got his claws into something, he never let go. He remembers the look in his brother’s eyes from that first night in 1991 – they’d been talking about how they were bound together, forever, and he’d been _glad_ in a way that still makes Noel shiver.

Without the bond...it’d just be him in his head. He’d never have to think about Liam again. He’d finally be alone.

 **NG:** ~~Liam~~ [4:13 03/07/2019]

 **LG** _: Couldn’t tho_ [5:57 03/07/2019]

 **LG** : _Love u too mch_ [5:59 03/07/2019]

 **LG:** _Know you love me 2 when you gonna admit it_ [6:01 03/07/2019]

That was all he’d said.

Noel shakes his head. He’s running late and checking his fucking idiot brother’s texts has only made him later. He shoves his phone in his pocket, grabs his wallet and passport. He heads to the kitchen, where he slathers jam on his toast while he orders a cab and fishes out his passport, trying to ignore the radio. 

“In other news, legislators have been contemplating how to deal with the recent rash of terrorist attacks that took place in the greater London area last weeks, recently claimed by the anti-soulmate group BOH. Debate is still ongoing about clause 1. 1a of the 1949 Marriage Act, otherwise known as the soulmate clause...”

Noel grimaced, burning his hand on his toast when it popped up. That right there was yet another reason he’d never wanted to show his mark.

A select group of people thought the whole idea of soulmates was complete and utter tripe, some type of conspiracy theory (if only). Which gave you shit like this: some nutter would go out, find someone with a mark, and give his best shot to fucking axe them. Didn’t happen too much in the UK anymore, but it was practically every fucking month on the continent.

The band’d had a few close calls with Liam, back in the day. One time in 2003, his brother had come to the soundcheck in Rome with a blackened eye and a split lip, running his mouth about ‘cunts who don’t believe in nothing’ and rubbing the mark on his wrist. He’d looked Noel right in the eye, and grinned.

 _“They got nothin’ on you and me, though”_ Noel’d heard Liam’s voice in his head, and glanced around just in case Gem or Andy had somehow listened in.

Despite it all, Liam had been grinning. Noel’d thought, _he’d go through that for me,_ and Liam must’ve heard some of it, because he walked up to Noel, stared right at him, and pressed a finger to Noel’s lip, teasing.

Noel shook himself out of the memory, trying to focus on his toast. He could go for another piece – fuck, the cab was going to be here any minute.

“...Clause 1.1a has recently come under fire for its no-holds-barred allowance of marriage. In the past, the clause had been used as defence against discrimination toward relationships which would otherwise be considered unacceptable due to class or sexuality, while in modern times its only effects are in terms of age and incestuous relations.”

Noel slammed radio’s off button.

He downed a cup of tea, scalding his tongue. He adjusted his collar. His cab should be here soon.

/

Noel tugged at his tie, trying not to itch at his wrist. His hand felt lighter than usual – he slung his right arm over the back of the chair he’s been sitting in, trying to right himself, exude confidence.

The interviewer – Frederik Skavlan, seems like a decent guy, though Noel's never met him before - runs him through the usual gamut of things. Stuff about his new album, opinions on Brexit and Boris Johnson. Eventually they're talking about the songs off his latest album, new American tour dates, why on Earth he’s got a woman playing the scissors for one of his songs.

Noel runs through his memorised list of answers: he’s done this stuff so many times he doubts there’s a question that could throw him off. 

“Yeah, well,” he starts when Skavlan asks about Charlotte and the whole French spoken word part in It’s A Beautiful World, “You gotta keep people guessing. Can’t let them think I’m getting boring, stuck on the same shite for twenty-five years and all,” Noel waves a hand in a vague gesture. His wrist still feels a tad too light.

“Speaking of so,” Skavlan starts, and Noel thinks, _here it comes._ He can feel questions about Liam coming on with all the inevitability of a hangover.

“You heard Liam’s new singles?” Right again, he thinks, resigned. Right again.

“Heard they were shite, yeah.” Noel shrugs. “I don’t really keep track of his stuff.” This is true. Noel doesn’t _need_ to keep track of Liam’s stuff – it comes his way regardless of any initiative on his part. No matter how he tries, people are convinced that he’s just as obsessed with Liam as Liam is with him.

Skavlan eyes him, assessing. Noel knows that look: he’s judging Noel’s body language and tone, trying to decide whether pushing the issue is worth it.

Noel does his best to make himself seem closed off, setting his jaw and fixing his gaze, but his mind keeps flipping back to his dream, to those texts.

It didn’t mean anything. Liam's full of shit – always had been, would say anything for attention. 

Still, though. Noel bites the inside of his cheek. If he really concentrates, he can pick out a few words in Liam’s head right now: _City_ and _better_ and _cheese._ Spots dance in his peripheral vision and his head’s already hurting, but still. He can do it.

He’s talked before he’s fully processed the words leaving his mouth.

“Maybe I should, though. Who knows, he might put out something good, someday. He is the man who wrote Songbird.” 

He doesn’t know what he’s saying. His wrist feels warm: Liam must be watching, like Noel knew he would. Fucking creep.

Skavlan stares at Noel like he’s successfully predicted tonight’s lottery numbers. Does he even know about Songbird? Maybe Noel should have explained that. Whatever.

Skavlan blinks, making an obvious effort to arrange his thoughts.“So are fans not entirely deluded in hoping for an Oasis reunion?” Noel resists the urge to bang his head on the wall.

Rolling his eyes, he waves a hand dismissively. “Not a chance,” he says. “He owes me sixty thousand apologies and a fucking guitar to boot, always lipping off about me family...” He trails off. Skavlan’s eyes have gone like saucers.

Noel tilts his head, glancing around the room. Finding nothing of interest, he turns back to Skavlan. “There summat in my teeth?”

Skavlan shakes his head. Eyebrows raised, he gestures. “Noel - your wrist.”

“I have a love bite?” Noel says idly, flipping his hand. It’s just his left wrist. The only thing of note there is his soulmark, which he always covers up with...

...His watch. That he'd woken up scratching at, prying off the clasps. 

He looks down, and for the first time in years, he sees his mark, that bright, Biblical-looking star that’s meant to represent Liam’s soul.

Oh, _fuck._

Looking up at Skavlan, he tries to keep his heartbeat from racketing up. “Fond of tattoos, me,” he says, lying through his teeth, trying to buy himself some time.

Everyone knows that soulmarks only glow when your soulmate is happy because of something you did that relates to _them._ Anyone with a working brain could figure out that he’s been talking about Liam. But he’d also been insulting him...

Twenty fucking years of hiding it, and this is what he gets. Goddamnit. There’s no way around admitting he’s got a soulmate. All he can do is run damage control.

He resists the knee-jerk urge to tug his sleeve down, instead forcing himself to smile. “What can I say? I’ve got hidden depths, me.” He says, swallowing hard and lifting his wrist, acting like it’s nothing, because he knows for a fact that this is going to be in fucking NME.

“You and your wife must be quite lucky,” Skavlan says, smiling. 

Fuck, it’s such an easy out – everyone will take it at face value if he says Sara’s his soulmate, especially if he says his mark’s glowing because he’s defending her against Liam. It all fits.

Small problem: _Sara_ will know he’s lying, and she’ll be betrayed. If she got angry enough, she’d tell the press.

More importantly, he could lose her.

He shakes his head minutely. “’S not her,” he says, as offhandedly as he can. “I knew ‘em, of course,” he gestures to his soulmark, “but, h- _she's_ not the right person for me.”

“How long have you had it?” Skavlan says, looking curious. People tend to act like that when they find out you've got a soulmark - like suddenly it's their fucking business, like it's not possibly the most fucking personal thing you can ask someone about. 

He shrugs, shaking his head and tightening his hands into fists. He’s got to keep it together. This interview is going to get _everywhere,_ plastered on social media and in music magazines like a fucking glowing billboard. His family will see. Sara will see. Liam will see. 

Noel shakes his head. “I don’t love her,” he says, looking Skavlan in the eyes. “I barely even think about her,” he says, hoping he'll get the gist. _Don't push it._ Skavlan smiles a bit, in that polite say-nothing sort of way, and Noel knows he’s back on balance.

But something – God only knows what – compels him to keep talking.

“She would’ve ruined my life, if I’d stayed with her,” he says, because it’s the truth, because that’s what these last eleven years have really come down to. Liam makes him want to hurt things and not care about the consequences, makes Noel think that people can love him even if he doesn’t hide his flaws.

He turns back to Skavlan, grinning even though his teeth hurt. “I believe we were talking about the next leg of my tour?” He starts, idly, as though nothing of interest’s occurred. As though, if Noel isn’t very, very careful, this isn't going to ruin his life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Here's](https://www.bbc.co.uk/news/entertainment-arts-41905722) an interview with Noel from 2017, where he talks about Who Built The Moon and why he's got a woman playing the scissors for it. Noel [ has stated](https://www.spin.com/2021/01/noel-liam-gallagher-oasis-songbird-compliment/) that he likes Liam's 2002 song 'Songbird'. The interview in this fic is based loosely off of [this](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YQevuFBV0w4) 2019 one, featuring Noel [yet again](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gBn-UGJDtWA) mentioning that he thinks Liam is always watching his interviews.


End file.
